It
is a story that will keep your nerves on a hair trigger even if you don't
know the difference between a cased pair of Paterson .34's and a Texas
.40 with a ramming-lever._
CHAPTER 1
It was hard to judge Jeff Rand's age from his appearance; he was
certainly over thirty and considerably under fifty. He looked hard and
fit, like a man who could be a serviceable friend or a particularly
unpleasant enemy. Women instinctively suspected that he would make a
most satisfying lover. One might have taken him for a successful lawyer
(he had studied law, years ago), or a military officer in mufti (he still
had a Reserve colonelcy, and used the title occasionally, to impress
people who he thought needed impressing), or a prosperous businessman,
as he usually thought of himself. Most of all, he looked like King
Charles II of England anachronistically clad in a Brooks Brothers suit.
At the moment, he was looking rather like King Charles II being bothered
by one of his mistresses who wanted a peerage for her husband.
"But, Mrs. Fleming," he was expostulating. "There surely must be somebody
else.... After all, you'll have to admit that this isn't the sort of work
this agency handles."
The would-be client released a series of smoke-rings and watched them
float up toward the air-outlet at the office ceiling.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25